Just drive the thing

For years, even before coming to the fine Hemmings family of magazines, I’ve expounded upon the importance of getting out there and just driving your car – that the thrill of ownership is being behind the wheel and going for a cruise, enjoying the day with friends, family, or just by yourself. And yet, since I’ve purchased my ’64 Dart GT convertible, going on three years now, it’s been one malady after another. Six months in paint jail. Suspension and 11.5-inch disc brakes that, for reasons too boring to get into, took over a year to get together (you may have read the story in Muscle Machines back in the Feb ’09 issue; we left out the timeline because it wasn’t relevant). And a million little maladies after that, mostly centering around cooling and the transmission. I tried to get it going last month, but the pints of crimsony pinkÂ tranny fluid on the garage floor when I pulled out convinced me otherwise. All of the mods made so far have been toward improved drivability, and yet there’s always something that has prevented me from driving it: time, talent (to execute repairs), weather, name it.

My son, now 2 1/2,Â has gone for a ride in the Dart before, always fascinated and loving it. First time we went out, six or eight months ago now, all he would talk about for a week was “daddy’s red car.” This was a turning point: Previously, he was a serious mama’s boy, and wanted little to do with me, which (as the provider of half his genetic makeup) killed me. The Dart was his first inkling that maybe daddy was OK. Not going for rides for months on end meant my status was slipping.

So when it all came together this last weekend, I took it: wife in the back seat, son in front (where the seatbelt is), top down. First step: take off the car cover. This involved me rolling up fabric, and my son saying “Wake up car! No more sleep!” since we’ve explained that the car cover is like a blanket for when daddy’s car is sleeping in the garage. Hop in, buckle up, and first stop: ice cream. (We must all have priorities, after all.)

Once our ice cream cups were gently settling in our tums, we took off and ended in and around coastal Rancho Palos Verde, CA – windy roads, lovely homes and architecture, stunning cliff and ocean views. My wife let her brunette curls flow freely in the breeze, the boy was just thrilled to be there, and I got a workout.

The Dart was a sensory experience for sure. Sawing away at the manual steering worked the arms; I’ll be getting anchor tattoos like Popeye if I keep this up. Various scents hit me at various times: the acrid tang of brakes, the passing sweet lilt of coolant, the meaty palatte of burning oil, the … ooh, there’s a smell I don’t recognize. Yikes. The engine wasn’t much of a factor in the excitement; many of its 180 factory horses have long since been put out to pasture, making progress slow and silent. But the muffled toot ofÂ our horn caught the attention of another early A-body Dart at an intersection. They waved as we whipped by. The breeze in my hair and the sun on my neck were just a bonus. My back was soaked, though.

I’d had nightmares about getting stuck 40 miles from home, in an area with no cell service, with a malady that I couldn’t diagnose, on a blind curve, as the sun was going down. None of them came to pass: The Dart was marvelous and, other than a rough idle when cold, gave me no reason to second-guess its capabilities.

Those capabilities included more than mere driving quality. For some,Â this might just have been a cruise. For my family, it was a fun afternoon outing, the kind of which we need to do more of (and will probably do more of, now that the Dart seems to be a reliable runner). For me, it was an epic victory on multiple levels. The first, I hope, of many.

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Drewsays:

April 9, 2009 11:43 am

Good on you for getting out there and driving that car! I’ve had my ’59 Bugeye Sprite for 3 years, and have put maybe 300 miles on it — it’s been sitting on axle stands for a year now. That’s just no good! I’m taking next week off to try and get make some progress so I can actually drive it this summer.

Thanks for the nice story — good motivation to keep me focused next week.

salguodsays:

April 9, 2009 4:33 pm

Awesome story, thanks for sharing. Makes me wish I could get my T’bird out. Not yet though, but soon enough. And you’re right, the smells of the car are part of the experience, and it’s like nothing else. I love to drive my ’05 Mazda3, it’s tight and responsive, but it can’t compare to the old Thunderbird. Nothing is more relaxing than top down motoring in an old convertible.

Looking at that first picture, that dash looked familiar. Then I read ’64 Dart. Dad had a ’65 Barracuda growing up, heck he drove it regularly until 1982. I suspect the Dart and the Valiant based ‘Cuda shared some dash bits.

chuck goolsbeesays:

April 9, 2009 10:51 pm

Indeed! get out and DRIVE the wheels off it!

If fact, I posit that if you do NOT drive an old car, it never gets sorted out and will rot faster. My time as caretaker for my dad’s old Jaguar started in 2003 with a 1600+ mile road trip with my 9yr old son to take it home. Since then I’ve logged well over 15,000 miles in the car, and intend to keep driving it. Rallies. Autocross. Tours. Cruise-ins. Sunday drives, and just plain old road trips. I hope my sons do the same when I pass it on to them.

BELLCORDsays:

April 10, 2009 8:58 am

I know it’s a cliche’, but it’s a magic time in all your lives and they seem to grow so fast…of course that old Dart will hold some of that magic for you and him as long as you are here…and our son’s will remember the magic long after we’ve gone….

shelby427says:

April 11, 2009 1:35 pm

Outstanding story! It took me all the way back in the early 80s drives with my father, that enormous passion to the car that is still here alive. I cant say i remember everything but some moments as a kid stuck in my mind till today, the sound of it, the smell of it, the whole feel of it. When my father wanted to sell it once i went crying like a baby, but it stayed, it was something more than just a car. Its “sleeping” in the garage waiting on the right moment. (‘74 Ford Capri MKII)